Paper Crane
by redwalgrl-RG
Summary: Surroundings and people shape the way one grows up. Seven snapshots into the lives of Roy Mustang and Frank Archer chronicalling their journey into adulthood, and why they dislike one another.


**Paper Crane**

Well, it's officially four A.M. the day before I leave for Japan. What am I doing up at this hour? Well, I magically got high off water (I blame the school water fountains. Or maybe they have fluoride in them. Fluoride is like poison, seriously) and now I have an idea. This has been bouncing around in my head for awhile, I just haven't sat down to write it. Since I'm going to be focusing the next two weeks on my big RoyArch project as well as deciding the order of Such Is the Life drabbles. Heh. Anyway, onto this one-shot.

_Obligatory disclaimer: I own nothing._

I know this is a slight AU by the way, Archer and Roy wouldn't have known each other at all before the events in the anime, though they might have seen each other when Roy was in Central earlier on. Anyway…

-+-

"Mother, I'm bored,"

"Hush, Franklin."

Ten year old Franklin Reginald Archer, who already hated his name and formal events like nothing else, scooted further down in his seat and pouted. Dark hair, an almost gray color, slicked back perfectly along with a dark gray suit and a blue tie made the child look forced in the rather forced environment. It was a Christmas party apparently, one of those little 'parties' where the men gather and talk about political affairs and the women talk about how difficult their children are. There weren't many children, seeing as how these were those 'aristocratic' couples of Amestris. The Armstrongs were there however, though Archer avoided their children. Olivier was quite a brat, always teasing him and calling him a vampire. She was only a few years older than he was, but she acted like she was queen of the world already. Then there was Alex Armstrong, who was several years younger than Frank, though he was just annoying. The youngest, Catherine, they said her name was, was still a baby and was carried around and often out of the room when she started crying.

Frank hated babies. He didn't have any siblings, he grew up alone. And even at ten he was already quite a bitter child. He was completely anti-social, preferring to follow his mother around like a forlorn little puppy. But at parties like these he was expected to behave and be quiet. That much he could do. It was just sitting in the same chair and listening to the boring grown-up talk for three hours that did him in.

"Mother,"

"Franklin, look, there's Mr. Mustang. Why don't you go greet Roy?"

"Who?" Frank looked over toward the man in the corner, trying to get his son to let go of his leg. The kid was small, perhaps a few years younger than Frank, still older than Alex though. Well, Frank wasn't usually very outgoing, but there was something about the other child that drew his attention. He hopped off the chair and walked over, holding out a pale hand, prominent blue veins visible on the back, marking him for what he was—a blue-blooded aristocrat in every sense of the word. "Hello, I'm Frank Archer."

"I-I'm R-Roy," The other child stuttered out, finally letting go of his father's leg to take the offered hand.

"I've never seen you before," Frank commented, shaking the hand and giving the other boy a small smile. "Come on, let's go steal some of the grown-up's food."

"O-okay!"

-+-

Alchemy books lay strewn every which way, several still open and others lying on bent pages, clearly not well-taken care of. "I don't get it!" Fifteen year old Frank Archer slammed his hands down onto the desk, boring holes into the pages of the book. "I can't do it! I'm doing everything you said, I just," A pause to throw one of the books off the table, "don't," another toss, "get," a third, "it!" and finally the last book, leaving the teenager to sink down into the chair and rest his head against folded arms. "Why can't I do it?"

"It's hereditary, Frank, you should be able to—"

"But I can't!" He snapped, sitting up and turning to glare at the man who looked almost exactly like him, his father. "I can't do it! I've tried! You've seen me! I just can't do it!"

Silence. Neither said anything, neither moved much at all. Ice eyes met ice, neither relenting or showing anything other than what was needed, anger and apathy. "Then there's nothing we can do," The elder Archer finally relented with a sigh. "You just can't do it."

Somehow those words seemed to take all the fight out of him. "B-but I… I can't… I can't be a failure, father. I can't, I have to…"

"You can't."

A knock on the door and enter Mrs. Archer. "Mr. Mustang is here, shall we greet him? Roy wanted to see you, Frank," She added in the teen's direction.

"In a moment," Frank mumbled absently. He turned back to the now bare desk and stared down at the wood, tracing patterns of darker colors with those ice eyes, not wanting to see the other male like this, not wanting to admit to failure. "I can't…"

"Hey, Frank," Too late, the door was pushed inwards again and the happy bubbly teen that was Roy Mustang bounded in the room, immediately perching on the free end of the desk. "Hey, something wrong?"

Frank looked up, surprised by Roy's sudden and ill-timed entrance. "Ah, uh, no, uh, nothing…"

"Oh come on Frank," Roy teased, "you know I hate it when you lie!" Another glance around the room seemed to help him figure it out though. "Oh, alchemy? It's really easy! Watch," He took a free sheet of paper and drew an array on it, pressing fingers to the circle and activating it. A flashing light and seconds later the paper was turned into a small paper crane. "See?"

"It's _not_ easy!" Archer smacked the crane out of Roy's hands, glaring up at him. "I can't do it! I have to be able to, it's, it's a tradition, all the Archer line can do it, why can't I?"

Roy shrugged, a little taken aback by the violent outburst. "Frank, it's alright, we can't all do everything. I mean, look at you, you're really smart, I'm not that smart…"

"I don't _care_! I want to use alchemy, no, I have to use it!" Archer once again drove his fists to the tabletop and bit his lip, trying to fight back frustrated tears. "I can't do it…"

A small moment of silence before Roy slipped off the table and carefully patted Archer's shoulder in a gesture that seemed awkward and forced, but the only socially acceptable one between two teenage males. He gently placed the paper crane in Frank's hands, smiling. "I'm sure you're great at something else…"

Frank kept that paper crane cradled to his cheek long after Roy was gone.

-+-

_Bang._

"Incredible, you didn't miss the center a single time."

"I know."

"You'll be deployed in six months, better get ready."

"Yes, sir."

Finally. Finally he was going out on the front lines. Archer had fought and clawed his way to be recognized, only to be shipped out to South Headquarters for a local scuffle. He didn't want that, he wanted _war._ He wanted to fight, he wanted to kill, he wanted to control, manipulate, will, and win. He wanted everything that he just couldn't have without getting higher in the military. It would be difficult, but he would get there.

It was only on returning to the small room in South Headquarters that he found the note hastily shoved under his door. He opened it and skimmed through it once to see who it was from before going back and rereading it. Roy. They'd kept in contact off and on even years after they went their separate ways in the Military Academy; Roy to go train as an alchemist, Archer as a foot soldier. More like a pencil-pusher. Nevertheless, the note was addressed to 'Frankie' in Roy's handwriting,

_Frankie,_

_Been awhile, hasn't it? I told __Maes__ about you the other day, but he just laughed, saying that there was no way I was from a high enough class to know the Archer-kid. He's a nutcase, __Maes__ is, but he's a good friend. __Aww__, don't worry, I'm not going to replace you! You're still a great friend, Frank, you know that. I wanted to tell you that we're finally moving off to battle, we're actually going to fight. A lot of the other alchemists are really excited, but I'm nervous, I won't hesitate to admit it. There's one guy in our unit, "Kimberly" I think it is, he's a little older than us and he's always blabbing on and on about making __people go "boom." It's psychos like that I don't want to see on the streets after this war. Hey, maybe after we're done, I'll come visit you! Or maybe you'll get shipped over here to help? I hear you've gotten really good with a gun! __Hopefully in both terms of it, hah __hah__ I guess you won't really be able to write back since you don't know where we are, but it's alright, I know you would if you could. Hell, __Maes__ thought one of your letters was from a girlfriend of mine! He laughed when he saw it was a man's handwriting, though did say you have a really fancy writing style for a man. Let me guess, you had handwriting classes? Alright, alright, I should get going, you know I hate writing a lot._

_Love (not really),_

_Roy._

Archer shook his head and folded the note in fourths, pocketing it. Roy Mustang, that man was interesting to say the least. But he was really the only friend Archer had in the military, well, the only friend _period_. Archer hated getting close to people. If they aren't close to you, they can't hurt you.

-+-

"It was a joke, I swear, honest!"

"You tried to feel me up!"

"I was kidding!"

Archer huffed and folded his arms, glaring away from the fresh out of war man, only a few years since the deployment of the alchemists. It hadn't even taken all that time to obliterate them, the Ishballans that is. But the military had taken its time of course. "You're an idiot."

"Hah, I know." Roy laughed, rubbing the back of his head, then looking up when Maes walked over, suddenly taking more interest in the other than Archer. "Oh, hey! Maes, this is Frank, Frank, Maes."

"Nice to meet you," Archer stated, voice immediately dropping into ice. He couldn't help it, he already didn't like Maes. The man was stealing Roy's friendship away, and of course that was something Archer just _couldn't_ have.

Roy looked at him like he was crazy, but Maes seemed to have no problem with the other man's tone. Instead, he just dragged off to leave Archer brooding.

Brooding has a terrible tendency to come out all wrong. And as Archer was left thinking about how unfair it all was, that Roy was a Major already, that he returned the 'Hero of Ishbal,' that Archer hadn't even _gotten _to fight in that war, that he had more medals than any Major previously… well, things were beginning to look worse and worse…

-+-

"Major Archer reporting."

"Archer, Archer, yes, I've heard that somewhere before," Hughes mused to himself, trying to remember and tapping his fingers on the file of the pale man in front of him. "Ah, seems to have escaped my memory."

"That's perfectly fine sir," Though clearly it wasn't. The man couldn't even remember him. It hadn't been that long at all since they'd first met. Over ten years, but Archer never forgot. No, Maes had stolen Roy from him. His Roy. The best, the only friend he had and Maes had just taken him.

"Well, let's go ahead and show you the workspace. Is this your first time in Central?"

"Yes, sir. I've been stationed in South for most of my career."

"Very good, very good. I hear it's doing alright. What about East? You heard anything about there?"

"No, I haven't, sir." Though Hughes probably had, that was where Roy was stationed, wasn't it?

Hughes shrugged lightly. "Well, that's alright, anyway—" He was rudely interrupted by the phone going off, immediately reaching out to pick it up. "Ah, Roy! Listen, I have to tell you about my darling Gracia. She's about ready to pop! I can't wait, any day now we're going to have ourselves a wonderful baby girl! Yes! She'll be the most adorable thing ever!"

Archer had a feeling he was going to hate it here.

-+-

That was it then, the meeting was over, leaving Archer smoldering and Roy smirking, along with an oddly apathetic looking Armstrong. "Very well then, I grant you permission to have joint control in the Liore operations, Mustang."

"Thank you, sir." Roy saluted to Bradley before heading out the door with Armstrong.

Archer glanced over watching the man leave before snapping a belated salute and following him out, waiting until Armstrong had gotten a decent few paces ahead. It was like Roy was waiting for him. "Mustang,"

"Archer,"

"Why the hell are you doing this? I can take care of this on my own." Archer snapped, finally stopping next to the Flame Alchemist, a firm glare in place. "I don't need your help."

"I know you don't. I'm not volunteering for this to help you." Roy stated with a small coy smile. "I know a lot about you, Archer. We grew up together. I know how you work, how you think. You can be so rash and irrational when you get angered or frustrated…"

"I don't want to hear it," Archer cut him off with a glare. "I want to know why you had the gall to take something that is rightfully _mine_. I want this war, I want to be in control. This is _my_ little Ishbal, Roy."

The other man sighed. "That's what I was afraid of. That's why I have to come along. I have to help you out somehow, don't I?"

"I don't need, nor want, you help."

Another sigh. "Frank,"

"Don't," Archer snapped immediately, turning to face the man fully now. "Don't you dare call me that. Not after all of this—not after what you did. You turned your back on me, you stopped contacting me. You know we haven't had a real conversation in years? Don't you _dare_ think you can be friendly with me after all that." Ice met obsidian, Archer hating that blank expression and stare Roy was giving him, like Roy didn't feel he was at fault for all this.

"Fine then, Archer," He corrected himself after a moment. "You're a smart man, you know it will be impossible to do this on your own. Liore is a large city. Even with the teams we have now, even with the seven thousand soldiers, something could go wrong. My team and I are here to back you up. A little extra help never hurt."

"I don't want it."

Roy shook his head, and then pulled out a piece of paper from his pants pocket, crumpled and bent but perfectly useable, and then plucked the pen from Archer's coat pocket, drawing an array and activating it. A flash of light and the paper was transformed into a little paper crane. "We've both done some stupid things, Frank, but we learned from them." He handed the paper crane over, gently holding those pale hands around the miniscule bird. "I'll be seeing you."

Archer was left, hands cupped around the fake bird. He waited for a bit, then crushed the paper.

-+-

The explosion from the grenade had rocked every bone in his human body. The automail went unharmed, but his human vision swayed, he couldn't quite see, it was going black and white, and even gray around the edges, and then there was the matter of the missing teeth, busted cannon-mouth, and of course several other such injuries, mostly to the head area. Looking down at the grenade definitely wasn't the smartest idea he'd ever had. Oh well, you live and learn.

Problem was, he wouldn't be living much longer. He knew that, he could feel the strain of the automail against his flesh. It had been so painful, the operation, he knew nothing else to do but scream. They'd pumped him so full of painkillers it was impossible to shoot straight. Thankfully he'd been equipped with near unlimited ammunition. Equipped. He wasn't a human anymore, he was a machine. He was a toy, a chess piece in this war. The analogies almost had him laughing. He was in an oddly good mood.

Maybe he'd see Roy again.

But he wasn't counting on that, not until hearing that they'd captured Hawkeye. They refused to let him shoot her, but he finally managed to leave again, returning to the Fuhrer's mansion. Who else could protect the Fuhrer but his most trusted Colonel? Archer was there for his beck and call immediately, but who else would walk out that door carrying the Fuhrer's dead son?

Well, he did see Roy again.

_Click._

A small smirk and a 'Hmph,' was all Archer said before pulling the trigger. No noise was made from victory or anything of the sort. Just a simple mission accomplished type feeling. He wasn't human, why deal with human emotions?

And then the six shots. Wasn't it ironic, that the last thing he saw as he lay dying, bleeding to death from the six shots to the back, were gorgeous little paper cranes? They danced around in his vision, until all went black.


End file.
